


Injury Report

by Rina (rinadoll)



Series: Comfortween 2020 [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Broken Bones, Comfortween, Feeding, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26924515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/pseuds/Rina
Summary: David finally has a reason to not attend Patrick's ballgames! If only this wasn’t the reason.Written for Comfortween Day 10 prompt Them’s the Breaks (Comforting someone with a broken bone), mashed up with Day 14's Like A Momma Bird (Helping someone with everyday tasks that they’re unable to do because of illness/injury, feeding them).
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Comfortween 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956790
Comments: 9
Kudos: 124
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Injury Report

“David. I have something important to say. Can you sit down with me?”

David stopped packing his game bag and glared at Patrick. “If you ask me to sub for your team again,” he half heartedly threatened.

Patrick held his hands up. “Nope. Been there, done that, gave you a month of massages after. You ended your career on an MVP high.”

“VIP,” David corrected. “So what’s so important?” He sat on the edge of the couch, eyebrow raised. 

“David. I’m really sorry, but there won’t be barbecue after the game today.” Patrick looked sorrowful, the troll. 

“So obviously I don’t need to come then,” David said, smirking. “What a relief.”

“Your choice,” Patrick said. “Jocelyn is, however, bringing a make your own sundae bar for everyone.”

“Mmm,” David said, considering. 

“And of course, yours truly is on track to break the league’s season record of home runs, so…” Patrick trailed his fingers over David’s arm.

“Yeah, the ice cream sounds good,” David decided, and Patrick rolled his eyes.

\------  
From the loud noises in the crowd, it appeared to be a very exciting game. David was comfortable in the lounge chair he’d purchased when Patrick remained devoted to this team every summer, with a stack of magazines between him and the audience risers. Patrick came over with a kiss and an update every few intermissions, before running back to his team with more hollering. 

He’d just sat up to pick up the next issue when he heard gasps and his own name being shouted. He looked up and was horrified to see a ball headed right for his face.

He flung up his hands to protect his head as he dove to the side, but it wasn’t enough. The ball smashed into his hands and white hot pain shot through his fingers. 

Patrick was at his side in an instant, Stevie not far behind. “Let me see,” Patrick commanded, trying to gently pull the ball out of his grip. 

“Fucking hell,” David said, shocked, as he tried to open his right hand. The ball rolled away but his fingers--one wouldn’t unbend and the others barely moved.

“Gwen sure fouled that one up, huh,” Roland said, strolling up. “Nice catch, Dave. Might wanna get your hand checked out, though, I think.”

“Do you think, Roland? Do you really? Ever?” David snapped, cradling his hand to his chest. “Oh, my God.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Stevie said, starting to collect David’s things as Patrick helped him stand. She gave David a water bottle from his cooler to hold and pushed his arm up by his head.

“But the game!” Roland protested, as Jocelyn hit his arm. “What? It’s a big game!”

“We’re in the sixth, we’re winning,” Patrick began, but then waved him off. “Whatever. Figure it out.”

They were halfway towards the car when David stopped. “Oh, but my ice cream,” he said, turning big eyes to Patrick.

“We’ll get you some after the hospital,” Patrick promised, pushing on his back to keep him going. 

“I don’t think I’m coming to any more of the baseball games,” David said.

“I think that’s fair,” Patrick said, getting him settled and bucked into the passenger seat, careful not to touch his hand at all.

The hospital was a miserable time of waiting, x-rays, Patrick snapping at various medical staff, and what David called a gruesome resetting of his broken middle finger. 

“I can’t believe I only get ibuprofen,” he mourned from the couch. His hand was on a stack of pillows balanced next to him, almost uncomfortably high, with his splinted middle finger taped to his ring finger for stability.

“At least the splint is silver,” Patrick offered. “It goes with your outfits.” 

“Small consolation,” David said. “It’s throbbing again,” he said, just barely managing not to whine. 

“I have an idea, hang on,” Patrick said, disappearing into their kitchen. He returned with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon. “Here.”

He moved the pillow stack to David’s lap and placed the pint on it. “Hold your fingers against it,” he instructed and David sighed happily.

“Cold and delicious,” he said, picking the spoon up with his left hand. He dipped it in and frowned. “Ow, fuck.” It was rock hard, he didn’t have good control of the spoon, and the carton pushed painfully against his finger and bruised hand. 

“I’ve got it,” Patrick said, taking the spoon. He held the carton in place while he dug a spoonful of ice cream and held it out. 

“Really? We’re doing this?” David asked. But the lure of ice cream was strong and he didn’t really hesitate. 

“Is this what it’s going to be like for the next 4 to 8 weeks?” David asked, taking another bite Patrick held out. “How am I going to eat? How will I do my skin care? My left hand is not steady!” His voice scaled up and Patrick quickly held out another spoonful. David swallowed it fast and opened his mouth for another.

“It’ll get easier,” Patrick said, feeding him another bite. “But I’ll help as much as you need here and at the store. And I’m sure Stevie will, too, whenever she can.” 

Patrick had seen exactly how upset Stevie was when David was taken back for x-rays; they both knew the damage a ball to the head could do and how close David had come. He still had to stop and catch his breath sometimes. Thank God he’d been right there. David had seen and knew none of that, and just snorted. 

“I bet she will,” he said, rolling his eyes. “More please.”

Patrick fed him. “I actually broke that same finger when I was a kid,” he said. “My mom had to wash my hair for two months. We were both pretty miserable about that.”

“My hair,” David wailed, and Patrick gave him another spoonful. 

“I know,” he said soothingly. “I’ll help wash if you need it, and you’ll either figure out how to style it one handed or you’re going to buy a large number of new hats. One or the other.”

“Not reassuring,” David said, though he did bite back a smile and Patrick took it as a win. “How did you break your finger?”

“Also baseball, I’m afraid,” Patrick said. “I was at bat, hit a double off my finger instead of the bat. It hurt like hell at first, but I got used to the splint and doing things mostly one handed. And all the kids in my class thought it was really cool when my fingernail fell off.”

“Oh my God, I’m going to lose my nail?” David asked, horrified. He looked down, aghast, at his splinted finger. “What the fuck, Patrick?”

“No, no, no,” Patrick said quickly. “You’re not. I hit the ball from the front, by the nail, and you didn’t. Your nail is safe. And mine regrew, anyway. You know that.”

“I don’t think I can handle much more tonight,” David said, shaking his head and trying to breathe again. “No, give me one more,” he protested as Patrick started to put the lid back on the ice cream. “And another,” he said, as Patrick held one out with a grin.

“Ready to turn in early?” Patrick asked, offering one last bite for David to savor.

“Mmm, it’s going to take at least twice as long for us to do my skin care together,” David said. “So it’s probably not going to be that early.”

Patrick had a sinking feeling David was right, and he was. Intellectually, he had known how fiddly David’s regimen was, with droppers and things, but he’d only ever had to help with eye cream. He’d become accustomed to the length of it, and underestimated exactly what it entailed.

He was afraid to ask how many dollars worth of serum he had spilled mid-way through. David’s face had gone through an impressive journey right then, and Patrick wasn’t sure what kept him from commenting. Perhaps the fate of the rest of his products.

They eventually climbed into bed, David’s arm resting on another stack of pillows with one last ice pack, and Patrick spooning him. 

“Today was terrible. When we’re both less traumatized, I’m never going to let you forget your role in this debacle,” David said, yawning. 

Patrick pressed a fond kiss to his temple. “I expect nothing less.”


End file.
